


ah, you loved him

by RandomHistoricalShipper



Category: Amadeus (1984), Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao
Genre: Angst, M/M, More angst, mozart is dead, oh did i mention mozalieri, pls dont kill me, salieri is a sweetheart, salieri loves mozart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 04:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14633850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomHistoricalShipper/pseuds/RandomHistoricalShipper
Summary: Salieri realizes his love for Mozart far too late. He laments it.





	ah, you loved him

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first posted work yay! lol. Please feel free to drop a review; constructive criticism is welcomed! Any flames will be used to power the balrog sent after you. Happy reading! :)

The first time you hear him play is the first time you hate someone with all your heart.

He’s at the piano when you enter, fingers flying over the keys in an improvisation on one of _your own_ themes, exploring new ideas and harmonies you never thought of. He rewrites your music to suit himself.

And it’s a thousand times better. A feat you could never equal.

You decide before the march is over that you hate Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

∼

The next time you see him, it is in the court of the emperor. He is to be commissioned to write an opera, a post that would normally go to you, but this young man seems to outdo you in every mode of music.

You keep silent at the time, but later slip into his home when he isn’t there and copy some of his compositions. When you play them at your piano, later, you realise just how good he is.

You are tempted throw the scores into the fire in a fit of anger, but instead you keep them locked up in a box with your most prized possessions, because you hate Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

∼

The years pass, and you see him less and less as he throws himself into his operas and sonatas. But when you do see him, he sends a light grin and a wink your way. It infuriates you to no end how he thinks of you as a friend.

His works are tremendous successes.

Yours are forgotten. They are failures.

The emperor begins to consult him on matters of music rather than you.

You begin to plot his demise.

∼

It’s quite simple, really.

You commission him in secret to write the _Requiem Mass_ and plan to kill him once it reaches completion, then premiere the work at his funeral as your own.

Simple in theory; not so much in practice.

You have said this before; you know it as well as you know your own mind.

_Planning the death of a man is one thing. Doing it with your own hands… is quite another._

∼

As Fate would have it, he never finishes it.

Death comes for him far too soon.

Vienna’s greatest composer and musician to ever live is buried unceremoniously in a mass grave.

You never get to premiere the _Requiem._

∼

You soon find that you cannot handle a world without Mozart.

You spend your days in silence and misery, because for the first time in your life, you cannot seem to write anything worth hearing.

You spend hours staring out at the night sky, holding a crucifix, wondering what would have been different if you two had worked together instead of you blocking his path at every turn.

You unlock your box and pull out the copies of his early compositions. Some of them were never performed.

You think you hear echoes of his laughter in his music, and you wonder if you are truly going mad at last.

∼

When Constanze comes knocking, you pretend to not be home. You pretend to be indifferent to her plight, but secretly, you arrange the sale of her husband’s manuscripts and help her get a stable living.

You offer to tutor the children. Constanze never replies to it, but she does keep in touch with you, thinking you were her husband’s friend.

How wrong she is.

∼

It doesn’t take you long to realise how much of a paradox you are.

You were envious of the _maestro_ while he lived; you resented him and sabotaged each of his works to the best of your ability, and yet after he died, you turned contrite and repentant; you prayed endlessly and donated to the church, hoping to see him just one last time.

You wanted to see him fail while he lived, but after his death you begged his forgiveness for the countless times you wronged him.

You wonder why. _Why_ you hated him so while he was alive and yet regret his death.

The answer is long in coming to you.

∼

A moonless night nine years after his burial, you finally find the answer.

_You loved him._

You loved him, but perhaps also hated him for subjugating your soul with no effort, stealing your heart away with hardly a word. All he had to do was play his music.

You fell in love with him, and you hated him for that.

At first, you think you are wrong. You want to rail against yourself for even considering such a preposterous thing.

But when you splash cold water on your face and see your reflection, pale and haggard, you see many emotions.

Anger is not one of them.

_You… loved him?_

_Ah, you loved him. Of course, you loved him._

∼

You love him, but how could you?

You love him, but how _dare_ you?

How could you ever deserve a golden soul such as him?

∼

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart belongs to the Lord, to the green meadows sparkling with dew drops on a bright morning.

You belong to the fiery ash and smoke of Hell.

Mozart belongs to all the beautiful things in the cosmos. He belongs to anybody, anything, _but_ you.

You are from another world.

∼

You find that you don't care what the saints have to say to you, nor what God has to offer in your forgiveness.

You don't need any of their pity. You don't need their pardon.

They cannot judge you – Mozart, only Mozart has the right to judge you and sentence you as he sees fit.

You owe Mozart more than you ever owed God.

You know that when you face his judgement, you will shed all disguise, reveal all tricks and conspiracies of the past, let your corruption and selfish desire be known.

You want him to hate you for what you did. It is no less than you deserve.

∼

But you forget one thing.

∼

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart never had hatred in his soul.

∼

No matter what you did, he could never hate you.

He loved you too.

∼

When you finally remember this, after years of agonising and tearing your soul apart, you fall to your knees and stay there until dawn, not knowing whether you should cry or laugh.

You are forgiven by the one you destroyed, but do you deserve it?

You are _loved_ by the one you shattered out of blind hatred and jealousy, but you do not deserve it.

You could never deserve it, not after all you did to him while he lived.

∼

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart loved you just as you loved him, and that leaves you kneeling on the icy floor, wondering if this is some cruel joke designed by God.

∼

 

 

_finis._


End file.
